Closing the book, I find I have left my headinside. It is dark in here, but the chapters opentheir beautiful spaces and give a rustling sound,words adjusting themselves to their meaning.Long passages open at successive pages. An echo,Continuous from the title onward, humsbehind me. From in here the world looms,a jungle redeemed by these linked sentences carved out when an author traveled and a readerkept the way open. When this book endsI will pull it inside-out like a sockand throw it back in the library. But the rumorof it will haunt all that follows in my life.A candle flame in Tibet leans when I move.